Indecency
by Aki Clairveaux
Summary: Yaoi. Sanzo x Kurapica. : Check it out.
1. Prologue

This is something I RP with a friend. It's still on going so a bunch more will happen here. :)

My partner and friend: Sapphire-Ruby and Sapphire-Amethyst (Just one person. LOL) Credits to her for helping me out here.

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**Indecency**

Prologue: Sanzo's

_A young man, blond and well-dressed, had entered his shop one dry afternoon, aloof and seemingly distant from everything else. Blue, sapphire-like, eyes were surprisingly inexpressive and lifeless—like they had been __tortured of tears and hurt and cruel memories. And when he moved about on the wooden floor, he seemed heavier despite the slender build, too burdened for someone his age. Sixteen? Seventeen? If that was the case, back then for him, he knew they could have been the same. _

_ This kid approached the counter while he read his newspaper from behind it. Sanzo looked up and saw nostalgia spark right in front of him. He didn't look pleased but he didn't look too displeased to dissatisfy that customer; but, there was something about the air that morning and that boy's presence that stood stale despite the better mood he had before he came in his flower shop. _

_"I am here to help out a friend." He said while he looked around, glancing at glassed flowers, blooming and non blooming alike. He pointed his attention back to him and sighed. "A bouquet. Something that he can give to his girlfriend. What do you recommend?"_  
_  
The formality wasn't too different, either. He used to talk like that, act like that, look like that, and he never liked it. Sanzo stood up and answered him, "Roses will do fine."_

_This blond—_still nameless_—slid his fingertip on the counter and quietly added, "Add some hibiscus, baby's breath and carnations." He paused. "Will that look alright?"_

_Sanzo gave him a brief look and nodded. "It would. Just give me a moment."_

_For a man, Sanzo had to be as elegant as those colorful lives he had encased in those glasses. But unlike them, Sanzo lacked the primary colors to actually give his life some meaning. He was lonely. Just like some people, maybe like the kid that gave his memories a shot in the present, he also had patches of white and greys to call his own, skeletons to hide in his closet. And it's been too long, he had wanted to get rid of them just to ease himself from waking up and regretting ever walking back and forth to a life he disliked too much._

_"Take a seat. This can take a while. Or maybe you should buy yourself something to drink."_

_The kid sat down at one of the high stools he had out for customers to rest on. "I will wait here. But can you please hurry this up?"_

_That was a confirmatory salute. The kid had that air of arrogance surrounding him and the kind of posture and language inherited from pure gold and wealth. Sanzo had to keep himself composed despite the irritation he was starting to mould inside. _Work._ He was working and he was serving a soon-to-be paying customer. But he hated his kind, the rich and famous, the group of people he used to mingle with before. All the more, this quiet figure kept glancing at him while he prepared the bouquet requested. It was unirking in a pertrubing sense, "What is it?"_

_The latter's face had changed from that emotionally neutral look to that of an irritated one, although in the middle of the transition, had Sanzo been the least bit less sharp, he would not have noticed the very brief pause of surprise, impossibly perceptible except for expert eyes, before it was completely gone."I am waiting." His tone was impatient, urging the florist to hurry with the order._

_"Obviously."_

_"Then do not ask what is obvious."_

_"I wouldn't ask if you weren't staring at my face."_

_"There is something wrong with staring?"_

_"Girls who are attracted to me usually do that."_

_"I am a boy."_

_"Yeah. That's why it's weird if you're staring at me."_

_"..."_

_Sanzo went back to snipping the left over thorns. "A card. Would you like to put one here?"_

_He nodded and answered, "Yes. A blank one, please." and even if the customer had this permanent poker face plastered on, Sanzo could sense such strong tension emitting from that slender figure, and just because of a simple question such as whether he should include a card or not. But he had decided to ignore it, he was that kind of man._

_Sanzo raised the bouquet when he had finished, looking at it as if he was satisfied enough with his work. From that, he smiled, and was obviously capable of human emotions._

_When he faced the boy, the latter was staring at him like he had just seen someone dead come back to life. It was subtle but along with it was a yearning, for that same dead person. But, what was the most surprising, was that this customer of his, having already established that he was not someone easy to read, had failed to hide this set of emotions from a stranger. Like what Sanzo had seen from the boy was meant for him. It couldn't have been a flaw. Maybe something else._

_"Here. Girls always like flowers."_

_The obviously shaken teenager slightly jumped in his seat as he seemed to realize that Sanzo was looking straight at him. He blinked a few times, again let a fleeting surprised expression, before _again_ adopting that same distant expression he already had from the moment he entered the shop. Sanzo pulled himself away to avoid everything else, more emotions to linger on from that well-protected kid. He sighed and laid the bouquet on his counter where it's safe to grab it. Sanzo sat down and raised his newspaper, at his face's level. He had to admit, his new customer wasn't the only one who had emotions running like sparks of defeated purposes._

_"How much is it?" his voice was as neutral and heavy as always, like nothing at all happened. He was looking into his wallet._

_ Sanzo slid the receipt towards him. And when the boy had paid and stepped out only to leave half way, he couldn't help but watch him through that glass window—watch him look at his wallet as if something precious was kept inside it._

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You liked it? Leave a comment and tell us what you think about it. I'd appreciate it if we leave the bashing out of this. :) Thanks. _  
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	2. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hello! Sapphire-Amethyst here! I'm Aki's friend, and here I am with the first chapter. :D Sorry it took so long! College life is sooooo hard! Haha! :) Disclaimer on Saiyuki and HxH!

**Indecency**  
Chapter 1: Kurapica's

_Golden hair like mine... Same angled face... Similar features... But still different..._

Those thoughts were what ran in circles around his head from the moment he acknowledged the florist's presence, actually seeing him while he waited, sitting inside that small flower shop that afternoon. Always mulling over many things, from his academics, to his future, to his parents, to his dead brother, to his work, and to the people he mingled with, he spared strangers the bare attention he still had. Most of them did not retain that attention from him because they never had traits he deemed to be of worth of his time. If they were not rich, they were not influential, or, at the very least, did not contain any potentials in them, then he would not benefit from associating with them. The young Kuruta never wasted his time with unnecessary matters, or, rather, that was what he had grown to adopt.

But that man, when Kurapica decidedly glanced at him, was one of those rare few that actually forced his mind into overdrive. It bothered him to no end during that whole wait, it made him lose his composure. Worst of all, it weakened that barrier around him, that solid wall that only a handful of people had been able to penetrate. Inwardly, he had become agitated. How could there be another person who looked a lot like his brother? And more, he became annoyed, because of this look-alike and the sudden weakening of his shell around the vendor.

The complicated feelings meshed and mixed, swirling together and unnerving him. When the man finally turned and asked why he was staring, that was when Kurapica realized that he had failed to be as in control of himself as inhumanely possible. He had been stealing glances in wonderment of the resemblance between this stranger and his late brother; he was doing them too many times and too conspicuously; it had been very unlike him.

_Golden hair, same angled face, a sharp nose-features that were reminders of someone he had lost long ago... A sad frown, that edged on pure emptiness; amethyst eyes that were forbidding but lonely-he never saw these in that someone... They were similar but they were different..._

He had to answer. He had to lie. Lying was normal in his world. It was normal to do so in any part of this world. Aware of his negative mood, he conveyed his reply as simply being impatient. That had earned him a short exchange of words with the look-alike. It had not been a fruitful conversation, just as he had predicted, but it gave him a chance of taking longer peeks at him. What age was he? He seemed to be the same age as Kurapica's brother. Around early to middle twenties; it irked the Kuruta prince more, to think that there might be a chance this man before him was as old as his brother would have been if he was still alive. It was like fate was playing around with him, shoving it to his face that his brother was dead and someone had been allowed to replace him. What's more was that this impostor had the same elegance that his brother had.

It was aggravating.

He had not thought that it was going to get worse, but it did. It did and it shot down his barricade of cold and petrification. For after the impostor placed the last touches on the bouquet, he smiled like the quirk on his lips meant a genuine emotion...like it meant something too different after many years of proper solitude. And it was a mixture of detest and vulnerability. Now, the scene alone reminded him too much of his brother, for his brother never failed to have a smile on his face, so much that it made him stare. But _again_it was a different kind of smile-it was not relaxing or reassuring or happy. It made his chest tighten painfully, and for a moment he found it hard to breathe. He was vaguely aware of the two emotions that were suddenly conflicting inside him.

For a moment he wanted to scream for Akito to come back and give that familiar smile Kurapica knew he would never ever see again.

Next he just wanted to watch that stranger smile his own smile and see him as himself.

He was shocked back to reality the next second. For the first time after a long time, he found it hard to contain himself. He struggled to get his facade back up, had managed to speak in the normal way he did, but as he looked into his wallet, it immediately broke down again, but at that moment he finally sneaked an unnoticed glance at the florist.

_They really looked alike. But they were not the same person._

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He stepped halfway out of the shop, bouquet in hand, his plan to dispose of his friend (who had forced him to buy the flowers in the first place) completely forgotten, and having been pushed to his limits after just a short time. His wallet remained in his other hand, containing one half of the reason he was suddenly feeling like a very weak boy. Kurapica raised the wallet before him and looked at the picture of his family: his father with those stern blue eyes and that obligatory smile, graying brown hair smoothed to the back; his mother with the flowing, golden crown the children had acquired, having the same eye color but with a a sparkling pair; himself, a bit younger and wearing a calm smile; and his brother, who would have been the owner of the shop himself if the latter had blue eyes and a relaxed face.

In the succeeding days after that encounter, his head was bothered. Kurapica could not get rid of that florist in his head. He had to drown himself with paperwork from his father's company just to forget about that look-alike. But even when he was concentrating, slips of memories from that lazy afternoon would sometimes sidle into the corners of his consciousness, taunting him in a way and all the more worsening his already heavy disposition. For the whole week, who was known as the cold prince of the Kuruta became the ice prince who emitted shards wherever he went, that even strangers he passed seemed to be affected by his mood. From K University to the Kuruta Company building to his own very home, he was indeed in a very disturbed mood. So when the end of the week arrived, relief set itself, for there was one thing to look forward to at these times.

Friday to Sunday nights were an escape for him. It was when he would help around in Leorio's small bar as a part-time bartender, but he did not work for the money. He did not need the salary. Kurapica did it for the peaceful time he got by just standing there in the dim space; the lights were only there to provide the person some sight so they would not stumble. It was a dark haven for him, ironic it may sound. Men minded their own business amongst the chimes and jingles of glasses and ice and silverware. No one bothered him much unless they were of the troublesome kind or the ones who mistook him for a potential lay. Up to now, he still did not understand how he resembled in any way those of the opposite sex.

Wiping a glass in his usual place at the counter, he closed his eyes for a bit to relax. At least here, he could mull over in peace at what had transpired during that afternoon without having his temper flare. The night was just starting, there were only a few customers so far, and already he could feel the sleepy atmosphere of the bar get to him. He sighed.

The door opened, the bell rang, and in entered the last person he wanted to see in the world right now.

"Martini, dry."

He stared at the look-alike, surprised that the latter had to intrude upon the former's peace so soon, and still at awe over the resemblance that the stranger held with his brother. Kurapica had managed out a quiet and terse, "Welcome..." but to himself he knew it was not his way of greeting customers. It was not friendly like Leorio had taught, but he did not feel like being friendly around this person. Worse was that this person had made his mind slip so that he either did not hear the order or it had slipped from his mind. "...Good evening. What will be your order for tonight?"

The person stared at him with a chiding look before repeating his order with a touch of incredulity. Kurapica felt embarrassed and scolded himself. He was being absent-minded; that was not good. It was all because of this person.

Kurapica moved to make the customer's drink. He was hoping he could make it quietly and peacefully, but the look-alike had to tamper with his age.

"You don't look old enough to be working here." His voice was deep. "How old are you?" Kurapica could not help feeling as if his voice sounded empty, underneath the mild irritation that hinted when he spoke. It annoyed him, though, when he realized that it seemed to ring inside him.

"That is none of your business." Well, he was like this to anyone who would try probing into his personal life. There was nothing new to this.

"Why?"

"I do not give out personal information to strangers."

"Good point."

At this moment, Leorio decided to check in on his performance as a bartender. He came out of his office behind the counter at the same time Kurapica answered the impostor's last question. And just as expected, he did not miss his young friend's temperamental attitude.

"Hey, Kuracchin!" An arm slumped around his shoulders, and Kurapica had the inkling that this night was not going to end smoothly. "What happened to customer-friendly service?"

The young Kuruta scowled at his friend. "Did I not tell you never to call me that name in public?" he hissed, but Leorio simply waved it off.

"Sorry about my midget friend here, Sir," he greeted the other blond. "He isn't really that friendly, even to customers. Don't worry. I'll do something about it."

At the corner of his eye, Kurapica saw a smile forming on the customer's lips, and he knew nothing good would come out of that particular customer's mouth. "A salary cut would do."

He had the sudden urge to throw the bunch of glasses that were ready to be used just beside him.

"Come on, apologize!" Leorio ruffled Kurapica's hair, making the latter shove the former away.

The customer propped his chin in his palm and faintly smirked to his content, waiting for that apology as if it was an entertainment that had been put up for him. "I think it's a must, too."

Kurapica glared at both, inwardly swearing he would have a word with Leorio later, before he faced Sanzo and bowed. "I apologize for my rudeness. I hope it does not diminish your impression of our bar." He straightened up, reluctantly staring-to the point of glaring-at the other blond, as he waited for a reply. Surprisingly, the older blond simply smiled and silently accepted the drink Kurapica served to him. Relieved to finally be able to get away from the stranger, Kurapica moved away to entertain another customer's order, taking care to turn his back on that impostor.

The next few minutes passed him by in peace. He had turned his back on the older blond, determined to ignore the impostor drinking at the counter, so that he could gather himself again. _He's a nobody_, he told himself as he wiped the glass he was holding. _Just stop thinking about it._ He had more important things to think about, like that new clothing company his cousin was proposing. He needed to arrange a meeting with him tomorrow, just to make sure this business was going to get the group somewhere. And then there was that dinner his father had arranged with a business partner that he had to go to tomorrow evening. Plus, Killua and Gon wanted to get some new games from Akihabara. He had priorities to plan and arrange, and it was not even the time to do that.

_But how can someone possibly-_

It was no good. He just could not believe it that someone could bear that much of a resemblance with his brother. In fact, despite being in his abode of relaxation, Kurapica was forcing himself to think when he should not be remembering his problems at this time. Just because of the simple fact that there was an impostor in the area. One could call him overreacting, but Akito had not only been his brother-he had been the best friend Kurapica ever had.

The young Kuruta sighed, setting the dry glass in its place and reaching for another. Behind him, he could hear Leorio and the customer talking and despite himself. Kurapica closed his eyes, deciding that it must be the usual Leorio entertaining a customer. He ought to relax by then, really; otherwise, his reason for working here would be defeated.

It was strange how the ears could catch what its owner needed to hear.

"He might not-"

"He won't-his brother-name's Akito-"

He snapped.

Kurapica slammed the glass on the table before the two, eyes glowing in anger. How dare they talk about his brother? Worse, how could Leorio even talk about Akito with some stranger? What kind of friend was he?

The whole bar, quiet except for the hushed buzz of words exchanged over glasses of vodka, went into subdued silence. Everyone's attention shifted to the uncalled-for noise followed by the sound of glass cracking. Standing in his spot, trembling and seething, was Kurapica glaring at Leorio and the customer, his sight dimming with flaming anger. He barely took notice of the breaking glass in his hand as he slowly realized, while his adrenaline rush faded, that he had just acted improperly. It violated not only his etiquette but also Leorio's bar. It was not how a Kuruta should act. Kurapica's mind ran.

"...I'm sorry. The glass fell." With that, he turned, throwing the broken glass into the trash. The bartender bit down a hiss as he hid his bleeding hand from view of everyone, hastily getting the napkin in his pocket. He wrapped his wounded hand as he hurried out to the alley behind the bar, where he leaned against the wall amid the stacked crates of food and alcohol. He had not acknowledged Leorio's call, but Kurapica was sure the old man would never leave the bar unmanned.

"Stupid...stupid...!" the blond whispered angrily, squeezing his bleeding hand and hissing when it stung. Just why did that man have to ruin his night? This would not have happened if that stupid blond had just chosen some other bar to drink in, but no, Fate had to play with them, specifically him and his brother-look-alike. If anybody ever told him right now that nothing could ever be by coincidence, Kurapica would surely throw the bottles at them.

He clicked his tongue, sighing at the ground. But then, it was only he who was making a big deal out of all this. Leorio certainly had not thought much about someone looking a lot like

Akita, and of course the stranger would not have known what had gotten Kurapica so riled up about him. Until Leorio told him of course, which was also why Kurapica was here now, waiting for the bleeding in his hand to stop and his temper to subside. He was aware he had reacted wrongly to the situation, but being himself, he could not find it to be the first to apologize, even if the other blond had done nothing wrong.

The door opened again, and out came the blond, golden hair shining under the light from inside before the door closed. Solemn purple eyes that seemed to hide the spirit within slid to where Kurapica was, and when their eyes met Kurapica stiffened and glared. "Leorio shouldn't let customers into the back."

He was slender for a young man. Kurapica was almost sure he could carry him if he tried. His disposition was somewhat carefree and laid back, an "I don't give a fuck" attitude, but he still looked as though he knew his surroundings. As though he had learned a lifetime's worth of life lessons.

"I came here to apologize."

His voice was deep and stern, but carried no strict expectations. Kurapica blinked, and his glare faded a bit before he looked away. "Do so." He felt guilty for having a stranger go through this... It was not the latter's fault he reminded the boy of a dead loved one. But Kurapica could not let go. He refused to accept a face that was not his brother's anymore.

"How's the hand?"

The boy blinked again, looking down this time. "...It should survive," he replied quietly.

There was a moment of silence as he watched the customer smoke, leaning on the wall just beside him, forming swirls of smoke in the air when he blew.

"May I take a look at his picture?"

Kurapica paused, thinking for a moment, before fumbling for his wallet, opening it to reveal a family picture. He handed it to the customer, who took it and looked a moment.

"I don't look like him."

"Tsk." He grit his teeth and raised his hand for the wallet. "Are you going to apologize or not?"

"Will you forgive me if I do?"

He had nothing to apologize for. Kurapica knew that. There should be nothing bad about talking about a dead person. And there was nothing bad about looking like one. And yet... Kurapica felt he had to hear an apology from anyone for Akito's death.

"Maybe."

The customer took a drawl and blew, and with those small bits of action, Kurapica saw hints of a grace long-since abandoned. The observation brought with it pain, for it was as though even Akito's manners had died, the only remains of which stayed with the person standing before him now. "I'm sorry," the customer said, looking up at the sky. Hearing those words, Kurapica let out a breath he did not know he had been holding. He felt as though everything about his problem was solved. Why? He did not know. But just hearing them comforted him.

_Sorry for what?_

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Accepted." What exactly was he taking that apology for?

Without another word, the blond customer threw his cigarette on the ground, stepped on it, and walked away. Kurapica watched his back from his place, and with a sigh, he went back inside.


End file.
